When Walls Tumble Down
by Srellet
Summary: A few days after ANH. Han assesses his opinion of the loud-mouth demanding princess he rescued from the Death Star when circumstances give him no other choice.


I do not own any of the characters and most of the situations.

He didn't know what happened, it happened so fast. One minute they were exchanging heated words, the next… The next. The next he was crouched over her, one arm wrapped around her back and the other protecting his own head. Their argument about…whatever it was about… was loud but not loud enough to bring down the base. Yet here he was with his knees bruised against the permecrete, hovering over her as the dust and debris settled upon them.

Han Solo slowly lowered his arm and stretched his back, then his neck to survey the sudden changes in his environment. The corridor he was blazing through when he ran into her resembled more of a humble cargo lift than the long road of freedom it had been mere minutes before. He tipped his head back but his lower jaw refused to follow along as the cold light of the full moon poured through large gaps of what used to be the ceiling of the Alliance base. He sighed and took a moment to revel in his incredibly lucky streak of luck. Bounty hunters couldn't kill him, the feuding navigation computers on the _Millennium Falcon_ hadn't steered him into a supernova, and now… No one could be as lucky as he was.

Then she moved. Maybe he wasn't as lucky as he thought. She gracefully uncurled, one hand hovering near her coiled hair, one neck stretching upward, and one pouty mouth forming a muted 'O'. And his arm was still wrapped around her. Han grimaced. His muscles tensed as he prepared to disengage before she ever noticed he was engaged. But then her fingers twisted into the material of his sleeve, and the slight possibility of him escaping her wrath for invading her space and breathing her air sizzled dead.

Han clenched his teeth together and tightened every tendon in his body, determined to strike first for once. He had only known her for a few days now, if you can count the loud anger-fueled words exchanged between them a handful of times in those days as knowing someone, but he had her figured out. Didn't take much to provoke her, but the-more-royal-than-thou princess obviously hadn't spent much time with commoners. Or smugglers. Or smugglers who disliked and took pleasure in disrespecting royalty. Yep, easily provoked by the slightest of slights, and Han Solo's slights were anything but slight.

His eyes flew off her hand on his arm and zoomed in on her face. He wanted a front row seat to her indignant reaction to his indecent affront. He fixed a hybrid smirk-sneer on his mien and narrowed his eyes…

His string of inventively offensive but observant comments about her proximity to him caught in his throat when he caught sight of her large brown eyes. Focused on the crumpled ceiling above, those brown eyes unknowingly allowed his hazel ones to openly gape at them, and what Han saw in them was something he never expected. Not from her.

But… Those large brown eyes, a deeply rich hue of brown that radiated light rather than consuming it, were wide with pure fright. And that left Han Solo without words.

What _could_ he say? The first time he saw those eyes, they practically burned holes through his stolen stormtrooper armor as her mouth shot orders at him. They glinted with determination as her tiny body tried to avoid being swallowed by heaps of garbage. They scoffed at the first viewing of his beloved ship, the ship that would haul her haughty arse back to the rebel base, as her slender finger pointed and her arched brow laughed. They shrunk with indignation and ire as her shoulders squared off for another attack or counter-attack on him, and they iced over with a sharp lift of the chin as her short legs carried her swiftly passed him in a show of royal indifference.

Fiery, icy, haughty, determined, indignant, he could handle. But what he saw now in those incredibly large brown eyes…

Those eyes shifted from the broken ceiling to his face, swimming around for a moment before grasping his hazel ones. The unadulterated fear in those eyes pierced through him and spun his head, and Han found himself trying to remember what inspired such fear to begin with. Those large brown eyes now seemed to plead for some sort of answer to a question he never heard. He opened his mouth and tried to conjure something up.

While he attempted to process this foreign entity in those eyes, he failed to notice the placement of her free hand. He felt her warm handprint on his mid-thigh rather than saw, for there was no way he could pull his own eyes off of hers. It was a gentle heat that simmered before it burned an imprint upon his flesh. Again, it was something he felt and not witnessed, but he was certain that tiny handprint would mark his skin long after he knew her.

Her bottom lip folded and she sank her teeth into it while her eyes cautiously drifted up then purposely shifted back to him. Han wanted to turn away, didn't want to look into those eyes again and witness the vulnerability meant for no one to see. But those eyes imprisoned him, and not only could he not look away, but he felt compelled to search for the words she desired.

"Earthquake," he whispered.

Those large brown eyes scrutinized the damaged ceiling and her body remained rigid and attached to his arm and leg.

Han rubbed his bottom lip against his top. "Not an attack."

Her head bobbled up and down, but those eyes remained steady and unrelenting.

He opened his mouth and his brow furrowed. "You okay?"

Again, her head bobbed. "You?"

Han nodded, not breaking eye contact with her, "Yeah."

Her fingers relaxed, leaving a patch of wrinkles on his worn shirt sleeve, and her hand retreated, leaving a chill where her heat once resided. She slowly sank back onto her haunches, allowed her shoulders to relax just a touch, and pressed her lips into her royal frown. But the unguarded trepidation in those large brown eyes did not dissipate.

"How can you be sure?"

He glanced up at the rubble above them, "Too quiet. No stormtroopers trampin' around. No nasally Imperial officers shoutin' orders."

Her brow creased as she assessed his assessment. Han sat on the heels of his boots and rested his hands on his hips. She remained as still as a moicoy gruont lounging in the mid-morning sun longer than Han thought it possible for the take-action-then-command princess to do. His lower lip pushed up against the upper one. She was a quick thinker, and either she was working out a way to escape their present predicament or deciding whether or not she believed him. Knowing what he knew of her, it was most likely the latter. Han shook his head and grunted.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Other than the fact it seems we're trapped here."

"Huh?"

"Are you sure you're okay?" those large brown eyes, uncertain and curious, peered into his.

"I said I was," he huffed with a wave of a hand.

She pulled back and straightened her spine with a stifled shake. Those brown eyes rolled as she mumbled, "It's difficult to tell with you."

"With me?" he raised his voice, but the vulnerability barely masked by the irritation in those impossibly large eyes trapped the rest of his words on the tip of his tongue.

"Yes," she folded her arms across her chest, "with you."

Han wiggled his toes in his boots and fiddled with the belt loop closest to his right hand. That thrust-out lower lip and narrowed eyes meant she was riled up for another battle of insults. He didn't have the energy or desire, for once, to rise to the challenge, and he didn't want to take the chance that another earsplitting argument would further damage their already severely damaged environment.

Or maybe it was her eyes…

Han looked away from her and cautiously pulled himself to his feet. He tugged on his chin as he surveyed the crumpled walls and roof of the corridor. With a sharp upsweep of air, she stood and wiped some of the dust of off her body. He frowned, ignored the disturbance she caused, and kept his focus on finding a possible route out of their predicament. The most obvious way was through one of the openings in the ceiling, but the lowest hole was at least four meters above his head, if not more. Han twisted his head to his right and took a few steps toward the wall of crumpled permecrete, wood, and steel. He crouched down, balancing on toes and heels and resting an elbow on his knee.

"Don't touch anything!" a large voice ordered. "You might bring down what's left of the corridor."

Han clenched his jaw, took a breath, and then swiveled his body to face her. "Do you think that I'm an idiot?" he asked in a larger voice.

She arched her right brow, pushed out a hip, and crossed her arms over her chest, "Do you really want me to answer that?"

His fingers morphed into fists, "Are ya' callin' me an idiot?"

Han abruptly stood and banged his head on a tangle of permecrete and steel jutting out of the rubble. Grabbing his head, he winced as small debris and dust rained down. And there were those large brown eyes again, wide and unmoving, framed by dark hair and pale skin and accompanied by a slender body with two stick-like arms extending in each direction. She finally took a breath when the sky stopped falling.

"I don't think I have to," her lips pressed together, one side of her mouth curling upward.

Han's nostrils flared at her royal arrogance, "And who the hell was it that got us trapped in the garbage chute?"

Her lips now bunched together while her arms shot down her body into one straight line, "If you had a an actual plan of getting out of the detention center—"

"Hey!" he held up his hand. "That was _all_ Luke! I didn't even want to…"

Han swallowed the rest of his words. Those large brown eyes were pools of discomfiture fixed unwavering on his face. He tried to imagine what she was seeing, what she read in his eyes. Was he projecting the anger that gurgled underneath his skin? Could she detect the shame that itched behind his heart? Or did his irrational guilt eclipse all else? Han ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth and reconfigured an expression of indifference.

Her head bobbed once before it dropped. "That shouldn't have surprised me," she whispered.

Her quiet words smashed against his eardrums and his gut, and he cringed from their impact. _That shouldn't have surprised me_ not _doesn't_. Before, on the _Falcon _after they escaped the Death Star_,_ he didn't surprise her. Now, she shouldn't have been surprised, but she was. He let his hand fall from his head to his side.

She glided back down to the floor, gracefully folding her legs beneath her and loosely wrapping her arms around her torso. She dropped down those pullback eyes, and Han felt as if he was all alone in the collapsed corridor.

He bent his legs and sank to the floor, "Look, I took the job cos I owe a nasty ol' Hutt allota money. I didn't expect all the trouble that ol' man and the kid cost me." Another single bob of the head was all he got from her. "You can't tell me you'd go chargin' into an Imperial detention center on a huge Imperial space station that just obliterated a planet to rescue some stranger without gettin' somethin' outa it."

Those large brown eyes, indignant underlined with worry, flew up and her brow furrowed.

His own eyes widened and retracted. "'Course you would," he mumbled and shook his head. "Well, you were right about me." The furrow in her brow relaxed. "I'm all about profit."

She remained silent as those large brown eyes that failed to hide their apprehension lost interested in him and tentatively scanned the wreckage to her right and then above her head.

"Doesn't look like there're any stable clearances," he grimly acknowledged what she probably had already figured out. "Well, none that look like they lead outa 'ere."

Her chin tipped back further, pulling her spine straighter though her limbs still sagged around her body.

He looked up, "Too high, and there's no way to know if any of it can hold our weight unless we try it out."

Her lips rolled between her teeth and those large brown eyes troubled over the precarious mess above their heads.

His eyebrow twitched, "I don't think it's worth the risk."

Her lips compressed and her bottom lip slipped forward, keeping her thoughts locked away inside her. He figured she was weighing the risks from the way those large brown eyes roved over the riddle above her, and as those large brown eyes glassed over with despondency he knew that she had come to the same conclusion. Her disheartenment depressed his hope. Using the garbage chute to escape the detention center on the Death Star was inventive, considering there were probably no other exits besides the one with all the stormtroopers. (Of course, he would never admit that to her.) She obviously excelled at unconventional solutions. If she couldn't see a way out of this situation, then things were grimmer than he first thought.

"Why don't we hear anyone? We couldn't be the only ones who survived, and others should be searching for us." Anxiety whispered behind her steady words.

"Who knows we're here?"

The features on her face scrunched together, "I meant survivors."

"Maybe we should call for help," he climbed to his knees.

A slender finger, soft and warm, pressed firmly against his lips, and she was centimeters away from him with wide terrified eyes. "We don't know who or what's out there for certain."

His lips stretched into a grin underneath her finger, and she retreated as fast as she appeared. Han smoothed the front of his vest and pulled out a commlink. He waggled it in front of her before activating it, "Chewie."

Her up-turned nose pinched up when his repetitive hails were met with scratchy static.

"What now?" spoken low, tired, not at all like the commanding voice yelling at him in the detention center on the Death Star, letting him know that his rescue attempt lacked direction. _What now?_ Not judgmental or condemning, but an uncertain inquiry, asking for an answer he didn't have.

But a good question, nonetheless. He looked at her, at those vulnerable eyes that contrasted her sharp posture, and felt he let her down though their predicament was no fault of his own. He let her question float away and mingle with the dusty air as his eyes drifted from her to the rubble just beyond her left shoulder. The heat of her gaze, much hotter than the touch of her hand, simmered before it seared through his skin and into his chest. And on no uncertain terms did Han doubt the burn in his chest would linger long after he knew her.

He shifted his body around to shake those large brown anxious eyes and found a more comfortable position. He settled most of his weight on his right leg and used his bent left leg as a shelf to rest his left arm, leaving the responsibility of balance to his right arm.

"Did you damage your head?"

His brow lowered quicker than a Fondor sunset. He opened his mouth, but a gruff sigh and the roll of impatient brown eyes prevented any words from falling out.

"I mean more than it already is."

His brow now cast shadows over his vision and his lips pursed before his mouth opened. This time it was the exasperated shake of her head with those large brown eyes hidden behind long dark lashes that stole away the words still left on his tongue.

"Did you hurt yourself when your head hit on that pipe up there?" her finger jabbed the air to emphasize her meaning.

Why didn't she just ask _that_ in the first place? Han's brow withdrew, "Nah. Takes much more than that to do me damage."

The right corner of her pouty lips pulled up at the moment her head tipped to the left. "That doesn't surprise me."

His gusty inhalation of the gritty air provided enough breath to counter-attack her unprovoked attack (but when were her attacks on his person ever provoked?) with stellar words brilliantly spun to injure. And just as he opened his mouth, her words penetrated through his thick skull, inciting his own to recede back down his throat.

He _doesn't_ surprise her, not shouldn't. Han slowly deflated his lungs as he pondered whether it was better if he didn't surprise her or if he shouldn't surprise her. When he couldn't decide, he figured he shouldn't care before he did.

"Where were you headed?" he asked too loudly with his question mark too emphasized.

Her shoulders followed her head as she looked toward the direction she had been walking before the world tumbled down. After a pulse, her body faced him again but those large brown eyes hid behind pale skin and curving dark lashes. "My quarters." Her abdomen swelled with a breath only to quickly deflate with one inquiry, "You?"

He twisted his head, glanced at the mess behind him with one eye, and shrugged. "The _Falcon_."

There was a nanosecond of head bobbing again, minus the large brown inquiring eyes, and Han puzzled over why he felt like he let her down again. He had no obligations to her. Just a girl he helped rescue for enough credits to get Jabba off his back. He brushed some dust off the toe of his left boot before moving on to the right.

The slender finger that touched his lips moments ago now traced figures in the dusty floor. He watched it skate through the thick layer of dirt, making figures then tracing them before moving on to create some more. He craned his neck to get a better look at what those figures were, but the silver moonlight wasn't bright enough for him to see.

But it was bright enough to see her. She now rested her head on her kneecap, squishing her chin against her mouth. Her scalp was neatly divided by a perfectly straight line that was as pale as the skin on her finger. The hand that wasn't busy threaded itself through the space under her knees and clung to her hip. Her curled form seemed impossibly small to be the same larger-than-life princess he rescued just days ago.

Han swallowed and returned his attention to the thin finger pirouetting in the dirt. "Whatcha doing?"

Her scrunched mouth opened enough to ask, "Why?"

"Forget I asked," he grumbled.

"If that's what you want," her words bounced off her knee.

His upper lip twitched twice. "I just said I did."

The pale finger stopped, the head lifted, and those large brown eyes tinted with a touch of susceptibility quizzically stared at him. He glared back at her, narrowing his eyes while settling the tension in his face into nonchalance. Her thin eyebrows rose and waited there for an uncomfortable pulse.

"Yes, you did," her eyebrows returned to their usual spot on her face, but those large brown eyes remained wide and glued to his a few beats longer before she curled up and resumed etching figures in the dust.

Han clenched his teeth together and reorganized his body so that he faced away from her. The rubble around them whispered and grunted as the debris shifted and settled. Han just hoped it didn't decide to shift and settle on top of them. He rubbed the scar on his chin and eyed the crumpled walls. Still no screams of pain or shouts for help. No yells from searchers or the rumbling of heavy machinery and search and recover droids. And no word from Chewie.

He glanced over his shoulder at his companion. The smooth movement of her index finger morphed into rigid jabs followed by a swipe of her hand. Her mouth, two front teeth digging into the fleshy bottom lip, released no words. He probed the inside wall of his cheek with his tongue. Her silence was louder than her barking orders or angry retorts. He had come to associate her with noise, a whirlwind of loud grating noise. This quiet and static calm crouched less than a meter away from him unnerved him and incited an uncomfortable pang in his chest. Han pulled out his commlink and tried to hail Chewbacca again.

"The wreckage may be interfering with reception."

"Nooo… really?" he rolled his eyes.

When no sharp retort came, he turned his head to her. Her body still folded in on itself, her finger still scribbled in the dust, and those large brown eyes remained fixed on the ground. His brow creased, but she said no more, leaving him to wonder if she had spoken in the first place. He ran his thumb along the face of his commlink, tapped on the talk button in a precise rhythm, and then held his breath as he waited for a response.

"I'm sure your friend is okay."

Again, a light handful of words spoken quietly as her finger dragged along the floor. Han's face pinched a touch. "How can you be so certain, Your Worship?"

Her head popped up with a swift snap associated more with a military lifer than a spoiled princess, and those large brown eyes narrowed. He readied himself for another battle with the tart-tongue rebel. No, he anticipated it with a malicious delectation. Yelling at someone would do him some good, and she had been his favorite target from the moment she opened that loud mouth of hers on the Death Star and criticized his efforts to rescue her.

But those large brown eyes softened as they relaxed, and her chin found its place on her knee again. Han rubbed his bottom lip against his top as he debated whether or not he should swallow down his ire. Then he smirked to himself. That tart-tongue's strikes were unpredictable and those well-timed barbs rarely missed their mark. Best strategy was to strike first.

"The hangar was built with re-enforced aluminum," her breath disturbed her markings on the dusty floor and disrupted his pre-emptive strike. "If it _did_ collapse in a quake, it's highly unlikely that there would be any serious injuries." She sighed, "And any damage to your ship would only be improvements."

"That ship is the only reason that you're sittin' 'ere an' insultin' 'er, Your Worship!" Han curled his lips and thrust a finger in her direction. "And I'm sure I don't have to remind ya' that Luke wouldn't uv survived his suicidal attack on the Death Star if—"

Her lips parted just enough to free a tired puff of air, "And I gave you a medal for it."

The medal wasn't as memorable as the curve of her breast synched tight by satiny white material when she leaned over to place it around his neck.

"I'm sure you can sell it," she wiped her finger against her boot until most of the grit fell away from her skin. "Someone in the galaxy might find it to be worth something."

Han grunted and pushed himself to his feet. A piece of metal on a rope wouldn't get him much unless that metal was Mandalorian beskar, and if these rebels possessed such a priceless metal, they would put it to better use than forming it into a trinket to honor stupidity. He dusted his hands off on his pants and stretched his neck.

"I'm sure your friend is okay," she repeated through pouting lips.

He shuffled around as he tried to find the most optimal view outside their unexpected prison. "If you're so _sure_ he's okay, then why ain't he out there lookin' for me!"

He felt rather than saw those large brown eyes on him, studying his posture, gauging his temperament. He sensed her stillness even as the dust fell upon on her and the broken structure creaked. His agitation gradually dissipated until he was left with something between concern and resolve.

"Maybe he is," her shoulders rose and fell. "Maybe we aren't so easy to find."

It was his turn to study her. Both hands were folded neatly on the top of her boot. Those thin arms poking out of rolled sleeves stuck tight to the sides of her compact body. And those eyes, those large brown eyes colored with uncharacteristic uncertainty, stared at his scuffed up boots but gazed at something only she could see. Han kept his feet glued to the ground, taking in the forlorn expression on her usually hardened mien.

He shook his head and paced in a small circle. He didn't need her empty words meant to comfort, and he didn't need her pity. He cupped his hands around his mouth. Before he managed to call out, a firm hand squeezed his wrist and deflated his lungs.

"We don't know what's out there," that deep commanding voice admonished, though her volume was cautious. She released his wrist and took a step back.

"You just said Chewie might be out there lookin' for me."

Those pouty lips relaxed into a shadow of a smile before tightening, "We don't know who or what's out there. It's best to wait until morning when the lighting is better."

"And if nobody's lookin' for us?" he raised a brow and slammed his fists on his hips. "Just sittin' 'ere ain't gonna get us outa 'ere, an' I don't plan on dyin' 'ere."

Her legs gracefully melted and her backside settled back onto the dusty floor. "Good. I don't plan on dying here either." She crossed her legs and slouched over them while her face tipped up and presented itself to him. "Things seem stable for the time being—"

"For the time bein'!" he rolled his eyes.

Her right brow arched high, "For the time being. Dawn isn't far off. We'll be able to see better when it's light." Her shoulders rose and fell as her confidence dissolved. "It's not like we have much of a choice."

Another bout of pacing ended in a defeated drop to the ground when no other solution came to his mind. He pinched a piece of permecrete the size of a large marble and rolled it between his fingers. _We don't know what's out there._ _We don't know who's out there._ His eyes shifted to his companion. She didn't believe him. She wanted to. She tried to, but an attack seemed more likely than an earthquake. Still, it was too quiet. He studied the rough rock in his hand. It was possible that their would-be attackers discovered _why_ it wasn't a good idea to be out at night. Han started to throw the chunk of permecrete against the crumbled wall nearest him but thought better of it. If it was an attack, the first target would be the hangar. If only he didn't stop to argue with her…

He pulled the commlink out of his pocket and smoothed his fingers over it. Earthquake. Attack. Did it really matter? He wasn't going anywhere any time soon. If only he knew Chewie was okay.

"Anyhow, your friend is probably doing what he can for those trapped or hurt," she said. "He seems to have a caring heart."

His lips pressed tight together, creating a thin grim line. _Unlike you,_ he thought he could hear those two unspoken words hidden under her neutral tone. He waited for that chin to lift with superiority, those large brown eyes to narrow in judgment, and those pouty lips curve with disapproval. But that chin remained tucked, those eyes gazed at him with empathy and fatigue, and those lips relaxed into a slight smile, making him feel guilty for even thinking she would harbor any ill-thoughts about him though she had endlessly expressed such thoughts as loud as she could from the moment he met her.

But not all of her thoughts concerning him were ill. Well, not one.

_I knew there was more to you than money._ Her words a few days before, her voice that lifted and fell with excited laughter. _I knew there was more to you than money._ Her body that ploughed into him as if she knew him all her life. As if she _knew_ him. _I knew there was more…_ Such an emotional outburst, he had no choice but to believe she meant every word, that she believed he was a better "him". But did _he_ believe he was a better "him"?

She sighed and her clothes rustled as she lay down on her back. Her soiled hands folded themselves upon her abdomen, and her knees and legs formed isosceles triangles where her feet met the floor. Those large brown eyes stared at the wreckage above her as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Han scratched the back of his neck. "Was Luke on the base?"

"No, Rogue Squadron was sent on a recon mission. They're expected back tomorrow."

His shoulders softened and he picked up another piece of permecrete. He tossed it between his hands as a tired lull settled upon them. The day had been too long and now it seemed like it would never end. Maybe she was right. Maybe Chewie was safe and searching for him. Of course, the big-hearted Wookie would stop and help whoever needed it along the way. Han raised his eyes and aimed his right ear at the open spaces between the twisted rubbish that was once the roof. At least the kid was safe.

"Why did you come back?"

"Huh?" Han grunted though he had not only clearly heard her question, but knew exactly what she was asking.

"You came back. Why?"

He ran his hand through his hair, disturbing the dirt that settled there. "Well, you know. There's more to me than money."

His gaze shifted to her, and he braced himself for those wide indignant dark eyes. But those indignant eyes were closed and her up-turned nose was turned up to the broken ceiling. Her skin caught the pale light of the moon as her chest gently rose and fell with a yawn. Han frowned and his chin dimpled at the absence of her usual tenseness and rigidity. Her serene demeanor was out of place for someone trapped in a collapse corridor, and the soft calm of her body seemed oddly out of character.

But what did he know of her character, anyway?

He rolled his tongue around in his mouth as he waited for her lips to part wide enough to expel a prickly-but-creative retort and for those large brown eyes to open and drill a hole through his hazel ones as they searched for the answer she wanted, expected. Han rubbed the back of his neck when she did not meet his expectations. She asks him a question, a question that he knows she wants answered, and now she lay there as if she never asked the question in the first place. He shook his head. He watched her and waited, who would be the winner in the battle of wills this time?

Han then yawned after a long moment of waiting and considered the possibility that she wasn't partaking in the battle this time. Maybe she was sitting—or lying— this one out. Why?

_Why?_

_Why...?_

His eyes floated off her quiet form as he probed a molar with his tongue. "Guess I just wanted to make sure the kid made it back," the words tumbled out before he could contain them.

He caught a single bob of her head from the corner of his eye, attracting his full attention again. Those large brown eyes had opened into crescent moons but focused on nothing, and her body remained a parallel line to the dusty floor. Other than that tiny movement, she did not acknowledge his answer.

Han studied the dust on the floor and qualified, "He ne'er shoulda been out there anyway."

Those large brown eyes retreated under pale skin and long lashes. "I know."

His spine straightened as he scowled, "You know? Then why didn't ya' stop him?"

She sighed, "Did he stop you from leaving, I mean initially?"

He grunted. Of course she would have tried to stop him. She wasn't naïve. She knew the odds were stacked against the most experienced pilot out there much less than a green pilot picked right off the farm.

Those large brown eyes were crescent moons again, and her words were soft and light, "I wish he would go with you."

Han's hazel eyes flew to her static form. He opened his mouth with the intent on demanding her to repeat herself or give reason for her change of heart about what was best for the kid. But her neatly arranged body sagged heavily against the floor below her, and that was enough of an answer for him.

Her eyes closed once again, "I'll tell him you left because of me."

His right brow arched, "You don't hafta do that."

Those pointy shoulders twitched, and he interpreted the action to be akin to a shrug. "I know." Her chest inflated then fell, "I'm doing it for Luke."

His lips pressed into a line before it arced down, "'Course." Why would she do anything for him? He shifted his position. Why would he want her to do anything for him?

He leaned back on his elbows and scrutinized the mess across from him. _I wish he would go with you._ He tossed her words around in his mind, trying to fit them with the single-minded princess who spoke them. The good of the rebellion came before all else, even the lives of those who served it, even before her own. He stole a quick glance at her. He, Luke, and Chewie risked their lives to save her, and all she worried about were those damn plans that astromech droid was carrying. She never even uttered a word of thanks.

He raised his eyes up to the collapsed ceiling again, taking note of the first subtle signs of night fading. _I wish he would go with you._ But serving the Alliance was noble and honorable, a cause worth sacrificing oneself. She _lived_ that belief. The life of a smuggler was anything but. Did she think living the criminal life of a smuggler would extend Luke's life expectancy?

She wasn't naïve. She knew the odds of survival for a rebel. And she and Luke beat them one too many times already.

As the tendrils of the early sun weaved their way through the wreckage, Han pushed himself to his knees. He chewed his bottom lip before cracking a grin.

"Hey, Your Worship," he taunted. "Looks like there's a light at the end of this tunnel."

No answer. His brow furrowed as his hazel eyes sought out her face. Han sank back on his haunches, hands resting on his hips, "Your Worship?"

His lips pursed as he leaned toward her. Her legs rested on the ground with her knees pointed toward him. Her torso, rising and falling with a rhythmic calm, twisted the opposite direction with her back flat against the floor. One hand had unraveled itself from its previous resting place upon her stomach and stretched out, the palm facing up and open for his inspection.

He rested his hand against the floor and leaned further over her. "Hey, Sweetheart?" he called with the intent of waking her, but he kept his volume barely above a whisper.

Han shifted to his backside, allowing the blood to circulate through his legs again. Her partially opened hand was just centimeters from the toe of his boot. Dust particles clung to the lines etched in the palm, emphasizing their existence, the boldness of the life to which these marks belonged. A lighter layer of dirt dusted the smoother areas of the palm and sparkled under the light of dawn. Her curved fingers were no cleaner than her palm, and dirt caked underneath each tiny fingernail.

He dropped his weight to his forearm as his hazel eyes traveled from the fingernails to the palm and up to the wrist. Dark purple rings marring the small circumference gruesomely complimented the partially healed scratches in the pale skin. Han winced at the sight of the burned splotches, burns that could only have been caused by stun cuffs that were activate more times than they should have been. His eyes flitted to her face before his fingers carefully took hold of her sleeve and pulled it back. The crook of her slender arm was riddled with needle marks and bruises, typical injuries resulting from an Imperial interrogation.

Imperial interrogation… in all the chaos that only swelled from the moment he, Luke, and Chewie broke into the detention center, Han hadn't given much thought about what had occurred _before_ they found her.

Han sighed as he tugged her sleeve over her healing wounds. She was a hurricane of noise and urgency and action, barking orders at him, firing blasters, and keeping up with the frantic pace set by their pursuers. Not once did she show any sign of weakness. Not for a single moment did her body betray her ordeal. Not for a nanosecond did her face shed light on what she felt inside.

But then maybe it did. Maybe he just didn't look. Did anyone?

Han slowly inhaled and tapped his forefinger against his lips. He was looking now. The dewy morning light illuminated her pallid face, accentuating her delicate features in a way he had never seen before. The usually pinched brow smoothed, those long eyelashes darkened against the glowing skin, the parted lips curved with just a hint of a smile, and those cheeks… He sighed and swallowed. Those dirt-streaked cheeks, so round… His eyes roved over her face several times as he worked to fit the pieces together.

"Not possible," he whispered.

She looked no older than Luke, and he was… what? Eighteen? But she was a Senator and obviously held an important role in her doomed rebellion. She couldn't be… Han stretched out his finger and ran it along the silky coil resting over her ear. The growing light accentuated the purple lowlights and enhanced the copper highlights in the twisting tresses. A child's hairstyle by Corellian standards. But she was no child, was she? Who would be so irresponsible to let a kid play in such dangerous arenas? But then who let Luke climb into that X-Wing?

His finger retracted and before his mind could catch up with his hand, he lightly touched her open palm. He bit his breath, waiting for her to awake and explode, but not one muscle reacted to his intrusion. He pressed his lips together, furrowed his brow, and decided to push his incredibly lucky streak of luck. This time his hazel eyes and pinky finger explored her fingernails. Each tiny nail, no larger than a Talasea pral shell, was encrusted with dirt that pronounced the moon-shaped tip. Those fingernails, some clipped short, others jagged, those skinny fingers just long enough to fire a blaster, and that soiled palm were not hands fit for a princess. No, that small hand fit a child better than one of royalty or of diplomats. He stretched his hand out, spreading his fingers wide, and held it millimeters above hers. He marveled at the way his calloused hand dwarfed hers, how it would fit almost perfectly inside his if he closed his fingers around it.

Han withdrew his hand and brought it to his lips. He absent-mindedly chewed on the tip of his middle finger as his eyes soaked her in. She seemed so much smaller, so much more delicate than the prickly princess he rescued from the Death Star. His eyes hitched on the pale skin peeking out between her shirt and pants. Like her arm, her pallid flesh sported fading purple bruises. One such bruise that wrapped around her side looked distinctly like a handprint.

He lifted his hand up so that it caught the morning light. Could he have…?

Han balled his fingers into a fist and dropped it to his side. He couldn't feel much through those stormtrooper gloves. Did he squeeze too hard when he tried to pull her on top of the refuse in the trash compactor? His only concern at that moment was keeping her from drowning under the ever-rising tide of trash, and he succeeded. He studied the angle and arc of the offending bruise just a moment longer before tugging her shirt back into place.

He didn't even think it was possible to hurt her. She was just so…

He swallowed down his discomfort and unfound remorse. He saved her life. If he happened to leave a few bruises in the process… it was the ultimate end results that mattered anyway. And it wasn't like she acted like some frail prissy princess. Even in the days following the Alliance's victory over the Death Star, she stormed around the base yelling orders and lending a hand with the packing as the rebels rushed to evacuate the Yavin IV base before the Emperor sent reinforcements. And when his path crossed hers, she took him on toe-to-toe in a battle of insults and walked away the victor more times than he'd care to admit.

But the slumbering girl in front of him looked more like the porcelain Peoite doll in a Sorcorrian trinket shop that shattered into a million pieces when it slipped out of his hands and crashed against the floor. So small, so delicate, and his clumsy fingers caused its demise. He should have never picked up the doll in the first place…

Han rubbed his hand over his face before taking a peek at the aging morning that flooded down on them. His head ached with fatigue and his lungs felt heavy with dust. And here he was transfixed by this slumbering…what? Princess? Rebel Leader? Girl? Woman? …

His right arm stretched over her body and his hand brushed under the curve of her breast and against her ribcage. He had every intention of waking her with a gentle shake, but his hand refused to rustle her. Instead, it slid off her body until it rested on the ground beside her. The rise and fall of her chest mesmerized him, and he found himself unable to inhibit his impulses. Shifting most of his weight to that arm, he used his left arm to lever himself until his ear was mere centimeters from her chest. His tongue slid over his lips and his hazel eyes flashed ever vigilant, wondering if he was pushing his luck. He lightly pressed his ear against her chest, slowly applying pressure until it lay firmly against her body. He held his breath and listened…

Han inhaled sharply but resisted his urge to withdraw. A strong cadence thumped against his ear, demanding his attention. His eyes swiveled to the hand at the corner of his vision. A heart was the size of a person's fist, he was told. How could such a small heart be this commanding? The steady beat pulsed away that question along with the other thoughts in his head. And as her heart consumed his thoughts her respiration stole his breath. A leisure breath drawn, an unhurried breath released at such a soothing pace that it lulled his breath to fall in time with hers.

She coughed and he jumped back as if he was bitten by a mobi snake. His muscles froze and his lungs dared not pull in air as he watched her with a careful eye. She coughed again but did not rouse from sleep. His eyes traveled to the hole above and took note of the dust floating freely in the air. He chewed his lip and his brow furrowed when he looked back at her. How could anyone sleep so soundly in their situation? He'd have to be more than a gob's full of tired to even fall asleep in the first place.

Maybe all that yelling and blasting and jumping and climbing and arguing and commanding and packing…all that on the Death Star… maybe she was _that_ tired.

Han rested his elbow on his knee and his head in his hand and just looked at her. He did not see a princess or a rebel, not a senator or Peoite doll. Not a woman or his antagonist. Not a child. He saw _her_, flesh and blood, breath and bruises. He saw her and only her.

A sigh, heavy with weariness, slipped through his lips. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment while he stared at her.

"Leia," he whispered. He brushed the back of his hand against her dusty cheek several times before he achieved his goal.

Those large brown eyes, _her_ large brown eyes, flew open.

_Leia,_ he pressed her name against the roof of his mouth with his tongue. _Leia._

"You fell asleep."

She pushed herself up to a seated position with her right hand while her left hand rubbed her closed eyes, "Asleep? How…"

Han sat back and watched her now with troubled hazel eyes. "You must've been tired."

"I can't believe…"

Her large brown eyes blinked away confusion until they found his and pierced his soul. The confusion instantly morphed into vulnerability akin to trust. Han opened his mouth but couldn't find his voice fast enough. Her warm brown eyes flitted off his, and fluttered to the damage above.

He watched her glide to her knees, "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"Sh!" She hissed, "Listen."

His features pinched, but his usual irritation at her bossiness never manifested. Though that single word was a command spoken with royal authority, demanding obedience, it was _Leia's_ word and not that of a princess. His hazel eyes turned upward as he focused on hearing what she heard.

"One of those creatures?" she whispered, her body rigid and still. When he didn't answer her head whipped around and her large brown eyes widened with a flash of fear.

Wanting nothing more than to eradicate her fright, his hand instinctively reached out and took hold of hers, "Only if you consider Chewie a creature."

Her large brown eyes dropped to their joined hands, and Han cringed. Why did he have to grab her hand? Her teeth caught her bottom lip for a moment before releasing it. Han relaxed his fingers, but she didn't retract her hand. His eyes then fell to her tiny hand that lightly grasped his. Just as he thought; it fit perfectly inside his.

"Are you sure it's him?" she raised her large brown eyes to his.

Han willed himself to look into her eyes. Though not as nakedly vulnerable as they were a moment ago, her large brown eyes retained traces of credence, and he desired nothing more at the moment than to deserve such faith.

But he didn't deserve it…

He offered her an easy smile, "Without a doubt it."

Her brow creased as she assessed his assessment, and Han pulled himself and her to their feet before she could finish assessing. Han released her hand, raised his hands to his mouth, and stretched his neck. "Hey, Chewie! We're down 'ere!"

His call was instantly answered by a distant but distinct Wookie roar. Han glanced down at Leia, and they both openly laughed, releasing their tension and apprehension. Han held his arms relaxed at his side as he delighted in her wide smile with exposed teeth and squinting eyes. He waited for her to fling herself into his arms like she did after the Battle of Yavin IV or assault him with a quick hug, arms thrown around his neck, like she did in the trash compactor after the walls stopped moving.

Leia rocked to her toes and then back to her heels as her large brown eyes gazed warmly up at him, but that was all she gave him.

Han widened his smile, hoping to smile away his disappointment. He tucked his hands in his back pockets and tried to refashion the awkward emotions tugging at his heart into indifference. He shook his head and laughed at himself when it became agonizingly apparent that now that he had looked at her, _really_ looked at her, indifference was next to impossible.

He reached out and tapped the tip of her nose. She wrinkled her nose and playfully swatted his hand away as she laughed. _Leia._ Not what he expected. Not expected but quite intriguing. Intriguing enough to stick around a little while longer? Han watched her large brown eyes dance with relief and delight as she gave orders to Chewie. Hanging out with the rebels for a little while longer couldn't do that much harm, as long as he didn't stay too long. And just maybe if he stuck around long enough, he just might defy _her_ expectations of him. What could he lose?


End file.
